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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488268">the neon lights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicemurphy/pseuds/alicemurphy'>alicemurphy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead To Me (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Broadway, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, dancer jen and musician judy, lots of angst to come, twists turns and tony awards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:47:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicemurphy/pseuds/alicemurphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jen's been a dancer on broadway for a really long time and she's starting to have to ask herself what's next.</p><p>Judy took off travelling after it ended with Steve, but now she's back in new york and needs somewhere to work again.</p><p>a good old fashioned backstage theatre au that no one asked for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Judy Hale/Jen Harding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the flautist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’ve had this idea of Judy being a musician and what sort she would be and all this other stuff in my head for a while but didn’t have a clue how to make Jen fit into it. I decided to jump on the ‘Jen is a dancer' bandwagon, so here we are.</p><p>I used to do a lot of pit work, so that part should be somewhat accurate (in the heavily dramatised sense), but I’m not going to pretend I really know anything else about how the theatre works. I am going to pretend that flautists just play flute in the pit and not lots of instruments, mostly just because I don’t want Judy to have to be carrying lots of instruments around with her everywhere.</p><p>It’s kinda hastily written – I get so in my head about my other fics, I’m trying not to think too much about this one. We’ll see if it’s any good later.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The walk from the subway to the theatre is never her favourite part of the day. Ninety-nine percent of the people on the street have no idea who she is, but somehow there is always one, one theatre kid who knows the name of every ensemble member and dancer and understudy in the show that will recognise Jen as she tries to get into the building.</p>
<p>She used to be that kid, the one studying the playbills after every show, trying to remember everything she could about the people she wanted to be like someday, dreaming of a life on Broadway.</p>
<p>Well, she made it, sort of. She’s a dancer, in all the shows she dreamed about.</p>
<p>For the longest time, she loved it – loved getting to be on stage, to be a tiny part of a show, to be working her fucking ass off night after night and actually be earning money for it.</p>
<p>But then it never really went any further – she’s still just an ensemble dancer, still working her ass off night after night for barely any fucking money, watching as people much younger than her come and go, some getting their big breaks, some retiring.</p>
<p>At some point Jen's going to have to admit defeat, she knows that. She’s 36 already – she's been the oldest ensemble member in every show she’s done for the last four or five years. She just doesn’t have a fucking clue how to do that, how to <em>stop</em> dancing.</p>
<p>She gets to the stage door and the theatre kid is busy talking to some of the others from the show, a bunch of twenty somethings fresh from college that seem to bounce off stage every night. Jen sort of hates them – they’re all smiles and light and energy when it’s getting harder and harder for Jen to just get back to her chair in the dressing room after the show each night.</p>
<p>Jen scowls at them as she passes, but makes sure be smiling to say hello to the door manager – she’s not that much of an asshole.</p>
<p>A minute of pleasantries later, Jen’s finally on her way inside, ready to go get dressed and warm up.</p>
<p>She turns the corner and walks right into someone, not even Jen’s superior core strength being able to keep her from falling to the ground.</p>
<p>“Fuck. Ahh. Shit, that hurt.”</p>
<p>Someone’s hovering over her, immediately fussing apologetically.</p>
<p>“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“What the <em>fuck </em>were you doing just standing there-<em>”</em></p>
<p>Jen looks up.</p>
<p>The woman she apparently walked into is only tiny, dressed in this little blue dress covered in yellow flowers, fringe covering her forehead, black bag over her shoulder. She has a tan that makes Jen jealous – one obviously created neither from a bottle, like everyone else’s in the building, or from New York’s February sun. Everything about her kinda looks super out of place backstage at a theatre at 6pm on a Wednesday.</p>
<p>Jen’s about to yell, to curse her out for tripping her and risking injuring her like she normally would, but then she sees the woman’s face, sees how apologetic she looks. She can’t yell at someone pouting that much, it’d be cruel. Like yelling at a puppy.</p>
<p>“Sorry. It’s umm. It’s fine.” Jen finishes instead.</p>
<p>“Are you sure? Are you sure you’re okay?” the woman asks again, helping Jen back to her feet.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I'm good."</p>
<p>Jen thinks that will be that, that they’ll both just go off to wherever they were going, but the woman keeps talking.</p>
<p>“I was in the way, I’m sorry. I haven’t been to this theatre in years, I can’t believe they actually redecorated one of these places. I feel so lost.”</p>
<p><em>Oh, so she must work in the theatre too then? </em>Jen knows exactly what she’s talking about, knowing how turned around she felt after the last show she did here when they finally refurbished the place to put in a bigger stage.</p>
<p>“Ha, yeah. Right? I felt the same when we moved in here. What are you looking for?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Umm. The pit. There used to be a staircase right there but umm...” the woman trails off, gesturing to a doorway that just leads to an office now.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah. They moved the stairs. Don’t ask me why, we’re all confused. Why are you after the pit?” Jen asks, curious. She doesn’t look like any pit musician she’s ever seen – none of the black clothes and sluggish exhausted body language and pale faces from being stuck in a tiny room under the stage hour after hour, show after show.</p>
<p>Jen looks around for a second, and no, she’s definitely not hiding some big annoying musical instrument. It’s pretty rare for the musicians to have visitors like some of the cast do, so that probably isn’t it either.</p>
<p>The woman must notice her looking for something, reaching into the only slightly oversized handbag on her shoulder, pulls out a small black case, waving it a little.</p>
<p>“Oh, I play the flute. I’m subbing for Melissa today, one of her kids is sick -nothing too serious -but she called and asked me to cover anyway.” She says, smiling.</p>
<p>Jen looks at her blankly.</p>
<p>“Melissa? Red hair, really tall, flautist?” she says, and it sounds teasing, like she’s laughing at how Jen clearly has no clue who this person is. The band and the rest of the show tend not to interact a whole lot – Jen doesn’t think she’s seen most of them since the opening night party.</p>
<p>“I, umm, I don’t really know the band.”</p>
<p>“Let me guess, actor?”</p>
<p>“Fuck you. I’m a dancer,” Jen says automatically, her usual response when someone accuses her of being something as normal and easy as an actor.</p>
<p>The woman somehow smiles wider.</p>
<p>“Rigghhht. It would be such a dreadful thing to mix those things up.”</p>
<p>“It really fucking would.” Jen says, without the bite she would typically have. <em>Why is she smiling back?</em></p>
<p>It’s quiet moment before the woman speaks again.</p>
<p>“So, umm, the pit?”</p>
<p>Jen feels like slapping herself for forgetting that’s what the woman was looking for.</p>
<p>“Oh, right. It’s over here now, down these stairs...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The show goes on as normal. It’s <em>fine</em>, the audience shockingly engaged for a midweek show, but for some reason, even in the middle of her most intense tap number, when she’s practically  dying on stage and doesn’t usually have the mental capacity for anything but counting and willing her feet to move, her mind can’t stop thinking about the woman sitting under the stage. She almost loses focus whenever she picks out the flute in the music coming from the orchestra pit.</p>
<p>It’s really strange.</p>
<p>
  <em>Did she hit her head when she fell or something?</em>
</p>
<p>She still feels a little lost when she finally leaves the theatre. </p>
<p>It’s not like she’ll ever see the woman ever again – she just came in to cover, a one off and Jen’d never normally interact with the musicians anyway – really couldn’t tell you the name of anyone but the musical director, and only because his name is on the poster.</p>
<p>By the next morning, she’s decided to try to just put it all out of her mind, dismissing it as just a weird day.</p>
<p>She’s sure it’ll never happen again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know I have like 8 million other things I should be working on (this isn’t even the multichap fic I was talking about in DF…)  but this came to me and then I’d written 12,000 words of it so I figured I should at least post some of it? I'll probably put some more up later.</p>
<p>If anyone has any idea for what show they could be doing, let me know? Because I have no clue.</p>
<p>Thank you for reading! 💖</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the good week</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>A month or so goes by, and Jen almost forgets about the weird flautist in blue she ran into once. It’s a long month, Jen doing the exact same thing eight times a week is really taking a toll on her – her body’s exhausted, but she’s not going to start complaining too much about that now, in case someone hears her.</p><p>The last thing she needs is people <em>realising</em> how old she is. They know, technically, but age is just a number, a theory, until it becomes a reality that none of them can deny anymore.</p><p>For now, she wants to keep going, keep dancing, until someone – most likely a casting director or a doctor, in that order – tells her it’s finally time to stop.</p><p>She’s fucking dreading that day.</p><p>Today, though, she’s going into the theatre to do another show, just like yesterday and the day before and the day before.</p><p>This day, when she gets to the door, she moves to say hello to the stage door staff, she sees there’s someone already talking to them, making them laugh.</p><p>It’s the woman from before, the musician.</p><p>Jen waves, awkwardly of course, because <em>what the fuck</em>, Jen is not someone that waves at random pit musicians (or anyone really). She gets a smile back though, which makes the awkwardness feel worth it for a moment. Until she’s upstairs in her dressing room, and she feels confused again.</p><p>She spends the show thinking about the woman again, sort of wishing that she’d had an opportunity to talk to her, that they weren’t surrounded by people. <em>You wouldn’t even have known what to talk about with her </em>she thinks, trying to make herself focus back on the show.</p><p>Jen Harding is a professional with so many years experience, known for never making a mistake, for always being so concentrated and determined with what she’s doing. She’s not going to ruin that now.</p><p>She might, however, hang around the stage door for longer than usual that night, not hightailing it out of there as fast as she can like normal when she hears the security guards talking about the pretty woman in the pink dress that had joined the band for the day, talking about how nice she was, how they wish everyone in the show could be like that, how they hope she comes back soon.</p><p>Judy, is what they call her.</p><p>Jen slips out when they move on to talking about football. She’s heard all she needs to, and none of these kids are really interested in her signing their playbills anyway. She’s just a chorus dancer after all.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>She gets to the theatre the next day, early as normal, walking quickly through the halls when she spots her again. <em>Judy. </em>Leaning against the wall talking to a sound tech. Judy clearly sees her and waves, the guy she was talking to saying goodbye and walking away as she looks at Jen invitingly.</p><p>After how much she wishes she’d spoken to her yesterday, Jen isn’t about to say no, so she wanders over.</p><p>“Hey” Jen says when she’s close.</p><p>“Hey" Judy replies, smiling. <em>Jesus Christ that smile is infectious, what is up with that?</em></p><p>“You’re back again, so soon.” Jen says. She sounds like a fucking idiot. She hates it. She’s still smiling.</p><p>“I'm here all week. Melissa took her kids to the beach or something. It sounded fun.”</p><p>“Good for Melissa” Jen replies dryly. She still doesn’t know who that is.</p><p>“You still don’t know who Melissa is do you?”</p><p>“Nope.” Jen smiles. It’s strange how on the same page they are.</p><p>She notices what Judy’s wearing again, and has to comment – it’s so weird. “You’re still wearing bright colours, I see. How the fuck do you get away with that during the show? Aren’t you guys meant to be invisible to the audience down there?”</p><p>Judy motions to her bag.</p><p>“I have clothes to change into. I'm just not really a wears black all the time kind of person.” She responds.</p><p>Jen sort of wants to slap herself, because of course she just gets changed, that makes to much more sense than wearing a yellow dress for some audience member in the balcony to spot when they look down.</p><p>Judy seems to take Jen’s annoyance at herself as something else though.</p><p>“Not that there’s anything wrong with black, of course. Or any dark colours really...” she rushes to say, pointing to Jen’s black jeans and shirt combo. She had lost the matching blazer earlier on the subway, throwing it in her bag when it got too warm.</p><p>Jen rolls her eyes.</p><p>“No, you could never pull off this look. You’re far too... perky.” Jen quickly realises that that could come off as an insult, but thankfully the other woman just smiles and rocks on her feet a little, looking happy with the description. <em>Guess that proves how fucking accurate it is</em>, Jen thinks.</p><p>“I'm Judy by the way. I never said, before...” Judy trails off, as if she’s regretting introducing herself, like it could be too far or something. <em>It’s ridiculous, really. </em></p><p>“I know” Jen says, not holding back her smirk. “I’m Jen.”</p><p>And <em>shit, </em>Jen’s smirk gets reflected right back at her.</p><p>“I know” is all Judy says.</p><p>They stand there for a moment, grinning at each other like fucking lunatics, until someone rushes by them and Jen realises that, as early as she got here, she’s really running out of time before the show now.</p><p>“I should, umm, I should go get ready” she says, pointing over her shoulder in the wrong direction – to outside the building – like an idiot. She’s doing that a lot, right now.</p><p>“Yeah, of course. I'm sorry for keeping you so long. See you around, Jen.” Judy says, slipping away from the wall and grazing past Jen to go and head downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The next day’s a two-show day. Jen’s too exhausted after the first show to leave the theatre, declining the lunch invite of the friendlier other dancers, saying she has plans. What she really wants to do is nap, but maybe after getting food.</p><p>She rings the salad place down the road, knowing they’ll bring something straight over to the theatre, gathering the energy to walk up and down three flights of stairs again to make it to the stage door.</p><p>She makes it down before her food sadly, wandering around near the stage for her phone to buzz and say it’s arrived so she can get some sleep before the others return.</p><p>From where she’s stood, right in the wings, she can see out to the back of the theatre. She loves the sight of an empty theatre, the potential energy that fills the space, waiting for its next audience, its next show. It’s kind of magical – not that she’d ever say anything like that out loud to anyone.</p><p>Jen’s phone beeps, hears someone calling her name too, right as she spots movement in one of the back rows. She notices who it is, and quickly goes to fetch her food from the delivery person at the door.</p><p>She doesn’t go back to her dressing room like she planned – she walks through a side door instead, quietly moving down the aisle and past old folded chairs until she’s a few seats away.</p><p>“Judy. Hey” she says quietly. There’s no reason for it really, there’s no one else here she can disturb, but there’s something that just feels wrong about talking loudly when you’re sitting in theatre seats. Like it’d be disrespectful somehow.</p><p>Judy looks up. “Jen? Hi!”</p><p>“What are you still doing here? Aren’t the band meant to be the first ones to clear out the theatre when the show’s done?”</p><p>“We are, normally yes. Never expect us to hang around a second longer than we’re paid for” Judy jokes. Jen laughs. “This is my first two show day in nearly 3 years though, I forgot how exhausting they can be.”</p><p>“We're only halfway through, you know” Jen teases.</p><p>Judy bends forward to lean her head against the seat in the row in front of her.</p><p>“Uggghhhhh don’t remind me.” Judy whines, and for a second Jen thinks she’s actually complaining, trying to fit that in with the little she knows about the other woman’s personality somehow, but then Judy turns her head to look at Jen and she’s grinning, twinkle in her eye, and that feels better, more real.</p><p>Jen pushes her arm gently. She looks around, but can’t see anything, just Judy, in a long black dress that yes, does look as unnatural on her compared to the floral stuff as Jen expected.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” Jen asks hesitantly.</p><p>“Are you asking me out already? I thought for sure it’d take at least until the end of the week” Judy flirts, batting her eyes in a way that absolutely does not make Jen feel anything. That’d be ridiculous.</p><p>“Fuck off” Jen says, rolling her eyes again. “I have takeout here, I was going to offer to share, but I don’t have to...”</p><p>She barely finishes speaking before Judy says “ooh, gimme,” making adorable grabbing motions with her hands – <em>wait, adorable? What the fuck, Jen. </em></p><p>Jen gets the dish out the plastic bag she was carrying, and they sit quietly, watching the crew walk about on stage, passing the sole fork back and forth between them as they each take bites of the salad. It’s way more intimate than Jen thought sharing food could be, but Judy didn’t make a big deal about sharing a fork, so she isn’t going to either. She doesn’t want to draw attention to it and make it weird.</p><p>They chat, a bit, Judy asks how long Jen’s been in the show for, what other shows she’s done before, what it was like as a kid wanting to grow up and dance. Eventually, Jen gets tired of talking about herself. She’s never liked doing it much anyway, but especially not with someone as curious in front of her as Judy.</p><p>She really doesn’t make new friends very often though, so she has no idea what to ask, how to change the conversation.</p><p>She picks a decidedly stupid topic.</p><p>“You were so tanned the last time you were here. It’s practically gone now. What the fuck happened?” Jen asks, interrupting whatever Judy was saying.</p><p>She immediately regrets it, but Judy laughs anyway.</p><p>“Oh, you noticed that, huh?” she says, raising an eyebrow more than a little flirtatiously making Jen blush. <em>This fucking woman. </em>“New York in winter happened.”</p><p>There’s clearly more to the story though, so Jen just motions for Judy to continue.</p><p>“After my ex and I got divorced-"</p><p>“I'm sorry. What happened?” Jen interrupts, getting something that might count as a Judy-glare but really just looks like a cute pout in return for stopping her story. Judy answers anyway, of course.</p><p>“We really wanted to have kids and I couldn’t” she looks down for a second, clearly thinking about it, but then a second later is holding eye contact again, energy back up and smile slowly returning. It’s quite the impressive transformation. “Anyway, back to my story, don’t interrupt -"</p><p>That’s definitely meant to be a Judy-glare this time. There’s even a pointed finger to match. It couldn’t look less threatening to Jen, who grew up in Brooklyn, in the cutthroat <em>dance </em>world.</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it” Jen responds, sort of interrupting her and immediately holding her hands up in apology when she realises.</p><p>“After the divorce, I had a bunch of money, so I decided to leave all the flash and luxury of the orchestra pit behind for a while and go travelling for a few years. Two months ago, I was on a beach in Bali...”</p><p>“Bali, huh? That doesn’t seem your style. I’d have thought more backpacking through Asia or volunteering in Africa or something.”</p><p>“Oh, I did all that too. But I knew I had to come back to New York soon, so I thought I'd go all out for the final few weeks.”</p><p>“So, you’re, umm, you’re back for good now?” Jen says, trying to keep it light, keep the intrigue out of her voice. Judy either doesn’t pick up on it, or takes pity on her and doesn’t tease her for it for once.</p><p>“Yeah. I am-"</p><p>“Hey, Judy! I'm doing a coffee run, want anything?” someone shouts.</p><p>“I'm sorry. I’ll be back in a second” Judy whispers, putting a hand on Jen's arm before walking off, presumably so she doesn’t have to shout back.</p><p>There’s a trail of goose bumps where Judy just touched, Jen still feeling the softness of her skin. She really shouldn’t be thinking stuff like that, hasn’t in such a long time that she really doesn’t know where it’s coming from.</p><p>Really, she shouldn’t even be down here – she was so desperate to sleep earlier, so very tired. Jen can still feel the tiredness in her body, the exhaustion that comes with knowing she’s going to have to go dance for another two hours with minimal breaks in a little bit. But somehow, talking to Judy has left her feeling more alert than she has on a two-show day in years.</p><p>She feels like she might actually be able to do it, feels positive about doing another show for once, instead of the dread and desperation for any energy she's come to feel signify the Broadway experience.</p><p>How the fuck does just talking to someone have this much of an impact?</p><p>Maybe the harmless flirting and joking around is just what she needs, maybe Judy’s dropped in from the sky, from Bali or wherever the fuck she’s been, to be just the ray of sunshine she needs, the fire under her for a few days.</p><p><em>That’s total fucking bullshit and you know it</em>, Jen tries to tell herself, but she can’t help but think there must be a reason why she’s here, now.</p><p>Judy comes back before Jen can get any further into her self-examination, waving a chocolate bar in Jen’s face that she’s obviously charmed off of someone.</p><p>It’s yet another thing that Jen shouldn’t have, shouldn’t need, just like Judy’s friendship, if you can call it that when they’ve spoken all of three times, but it’s the perfect thing to make her feel better right now.</p><p>“Oh, I fucking love you.” Jen says when Judy breaks her off a piece.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It becomes a thing, over the next few days, Jen and Judy finding each other in the theatre before or after shows.</p><p>They talk for an hour in the corridor one day, until half hour is called. Jen has to sprint to her dressing room to stretch and do her makeup, getting ready faster than she has in a fucking decade.</p><p>They talk just inside the stage door after the show, in the way of everyone trying to get out of the building and go home, to flee this place and go and enjoy their Friday night.</p><p>One time, they stand outside Jen’s dressing room, the other dancers glaring a little at Judy until she of course charms them too, because it seems no one can dislike the brunette for any length of time. She’s just too sweet and nice for that.</p><p>
  <em>Thinking about it, Judy never did explain what she was doing all the way upstairs when Jen ran into her. </em>
</p><p>It’s easily been the best week Jen’s had in the 4 months since this particular show opened, the first time she’s really <em>enjoyed</em> herself in the theatre without being on stage in that time. She doesn’t want to think about how it’s actually the best week in years and years of her dancing career, that it’s been a very long time since she’s liked being at work like this.</p><p>And then, all of a sudden, the week is over, the other flute player is back, and Judy’s gone.</p><p>Jen's all alone again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Is this working? I don't know. I'm uploading some more anyway.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! I still have quite a lot more of this already written so I'm just going to keep uploading it everyday until I run out and have to write more. I kinda like this writing without thinking too much thing, it's so much easier.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jen gets back into her old routine easy enough. She’s still the first one of the dancers to get to the theatre every night, giving her loads of time to prep before a show, often the last one to leave by the time she’s gathered the energy to walk all the way to the subway to go home.</p><p>She goes back to not talking to people much, back to sitting in her chair and glaring at her younger co-stars for being too excited and making too much noise and generally just being irritating assholes.</p><p>She goes back to being bored, before and after shows.</p><p>It’s okay though, at least the dancing part is still there, at least for 2 hours a day, 4 sometimes, she gets to be alive on stage doing what she loves.</p><p>She might pay a little more attention to the band now, but that’s no one’s business but her own. She knows a couple of their names now, from when they’d come up to Judy the week she was here, Judy happily facilitating an introduction as if Jen had any interest in who these people are or in having a conversation with them.</p><p>It’s still strange to her, that she had any interest in talking to Judy at all. It’s been such a long time since Jen's felt drawn to a person like that, since she’s really wanted to bother to get to know someone. Jen can’t understand why her, why someone so positive and happy and <em>nice</em>, so unlike all of Jen’s friends from college or dance, who are all pretty much assholes like Jen.</p><p>She can’t understand why she got so attached, in such a short space of time. She can’t understand why it had to be to someone who is gone now.</p><p>She hasn’t had a new friend in such a long fucking time.</p><p>But they haven’t spoken since Judy left after the show that Sunday, and Jen has no way of contacting the other woman even if she wanted to – they never exchanged numbers or anything, which feels pretty fucking idiotic now.</p><p>Maybe they were only meant to have one week, one great week, and that is all?</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, why am I talking about ‘meant to be's' like that’s a fucking thing?</em>
</p><p>Jen knows she could go up to someone in the band and ask after Judy, that they undoubtedly would have contact information for her, but that feels too much, like she’d be putting herself on the line too much just to text her friend or whatever. It’s so stupid, how on edge and conflicted she feels.</p><p>It’s kind of weird, Jen thinks one day after no less than three people Jen didn’t know existed before Judy waved at her, how there are so many people in this theatre that make what she does possible and she never even thought about them before.</p><p>She’s not completely awful, she knows a few of the crew, made a point even to get to know the stage management and the wardrobe and lighting and sound people, even if she doesn’t ever need to be mic-ed up for this show – thank god, she fucking hates when shows want dancers to sing or something. She can do it, she <em>has </em>done it, when she was truly desperate to be in a show, but that’s not what she trained her whole life for.</p><p><em>Wasn’t that kind of all for selfish reasons? </em>Is a thought that creeps into her head one day though. <em>So you could get the best from them, the best lighting and costumes, the most support from everyone? Not because you were just trying to be nice...</em></p><p>It’s no surprise that Jen never knew the band – it was never an advantage for her to do so.</p><p>Jen very quickly figures out who Melissa is in the week after Judy leaves, on the lookout for the tall redhead like she’s stalking her. It’s weird, but she catches herself sending glares her way more than once, like they might somehow make the woman disappear and Judy come back in her place.</p><p>One day, when things finally feel back to normal, when Jen’s just about resolute that this is her life again now and the week is just a distant memory, there’s a knock on Jen’s dressing room door. It’s still early, so the youngsters Jen shares the room aren’t there yet.</p><p>Jen figures it’s probably just wardrobe or something, yelling “come in!” without bothering to move.</p><p>She hears the door handle shake a little, but it doesn’t open.</p><p>It’s a second before Jen hears a quiet “umm, Jen. Help?”</p><p>She fucking knows that voice.</p><p>Jen rushes to the door, opening it to find Judy standing there, a little red faced, two coffee cups and a bag of something almost ready to fall out her hands where she was clearly trying to balance them and open the door at the same time.</p><p>“Judy?!!” Jen exclaims, shocked that she is here.</p><p>“Surprise?” Judy says, small smile falling as she almost drops the bag in her hand.</p><p>Jen quickly rescues it and ushers her inside.</p><p>“Oh my God, what are you doing here??”</p><p>“Melissa called off again this morning so I'm doing the show tonight!”</p><p>A smile breaks out on Jen’s face. It feels like the first genuine time she’s smiled in weeks. It’s so relieving.</p><p>“Oh, umm, here" Judy says, sticking out both hands to offer the cups to Jen. The cups are from the ethical vegan place a whole 8 fucking blocks away, of course they are. Jen rolls her eyes. There’s a perfectly good Starbucks on the corner.</p><p>The cups are clearly labelled differently.</p><p>“I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or not, if you can’t drink it before a show, so I brought one coffee, one green tea, just in case. Take whichever.” Judy continues.</p><p><em>How the fuck is she so nice and considerate all the fucking time? </em>Jen thinks. She’s almost surprised by just how lovely Judy is, thinking that surely she must have exaggerated her in her memory after all this time. She clearly didn’t.</p><p>“That’s singers, babe” Jen laughs, pet name slipping through without her realising. “Dancers love their coffee.”</p><p>“Well then, here you go!” Judy responds, giving Jen one cup and keeping the tea for herself.</p><p>“So, how have you been? <em>Missed me?” </em>Judy sings flirtatiously, nudging Jen’s shoulder as she sits on the tiny gap not covered in makeup and random clutter on the table in front of Jen’s chair.</p><p>Jen has to laugh to stop herself from admitting something.</p><p>“Of course not. Barely even noticed you weren’t here” Jen jokes. “Are you sure you weren’t the one that messed up on the clarinet two nights ago?”</p><p>“Shhhh, you know that’s not what I play” Judy replies, beaming.</p><p>Shit, Jen missed this, the back and forth, the playfulness, Judy’s incredible smile – she doesn’t get to be like this with anyone else, hasn’t for years (if ever, if she’s being honest with herself.) She keeps going, if only to stop herself from staring at the woman she’s thinking about for too long.</p><p>“Oh, that’s right, it’s the cello, right?”</p><p>Judy looks a little incredulous.</p><p>“Do you see a cello anywhere?”</p><p>They carry on talking for a bit, too long really. Jen looks up towards the door when she hears noises outside, noticing the clock above it.</p><p>“The others will probably be here any moment. I should probably start getting ready...” Jen says apologetically, like ending their chat is the last thing she wants to do. Honestly, not even getting to dance in front of people feels as appealing tonight.</p><p>She points to the makeup on her table behind Judy, then to her only half-done face.</p><p>“Oh, right. Yeah, of course” Judy says, quickly moving off the table and picking up her bag. She pauses before she starts to move towards the door though, turning back towards Jen who had already picked up a makeup brush to start working on her face, very mindful of the time. “Actually, do you mind if I change here? The band’s room is so crowded...”</p><p>Jen swallows, meeting Judy’s eyes in the mirror in front of her.</p><p>Why does she feel like she’s going to regret this?</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>
  <em>It’s just a woman that you’re only sort of friends with getting undressed in front of you. What’s the big deal?</em>
</p><p>Jen tries not to look, she really does, trying to focus on what she’s doing, on putting the right sort of blue on the right place over her eye. There are mirrors fucking <em>everywhere </em>in this room though, at just about every angle – <em>it is a dressing room, Jennifer, what the fuck did you expect</em> - the lights around each of the mirrors illuminating the room and her view entirely.</p><p>Honestly, short of screwing her eyes shut and counting to a hundred – which Judy would definitely notice and have a field day teasing her for – there is no way for Jen to avoid seeing Judy pulling her dress over her head.</p><p>Practically all 360° of it.</p><p>Jen’s literally in this room with more naked women six days a week, but this feels different. <em>Why does it feel so fucking different</em>? Jen never normally tries to avoid looking, never even thinks twice about the body parts she’s seeing when she’s in here with all of them. It’s just what happens in dressing rooms in a show, it’s part of the job.</p><p>This, though, this isn’t.</p><p>Normally, it’s women putting on layers of spanx, with half their makeup done, wig caps on, all talking and distracted by other things.</p><p>It isn’t normally a really fucking attractive woman slowly revealing purple lingerie, still wearing knee-high boots, one that has Jen’s full and complete attention.</p><p><em>Jesus fucking Christ that’s hot, </em>she thinks, then immediately starts to retract inside her own head, because she <em>cannot </em>be having those sorts of thoughts about a woman she’s only just friendly with.</p><p>There’s a gasp, only quiet, she was probably the only one to hear it, but it still takes Jen a second to realise that it was her, that she audibly gasped when she saw the tattoo at the back of Judy’s left hips.</p><p>She clearly isn’t that lucky, looking up in the mirror to see Judy's eyes on her, looking at her curiously, and maybe a little smugly? She’s really not focused enough to tell.</p><p>Jen tries to rescue it, tries to take the heat off her and put it back onto Judy.</p><p>“Nice, umm. Nice tattoo you have there.”</p><p>“Oh this?” Judy teases, and she’s coming closer, just in her dark purple underwear and heeled boots, and <em>fuck</em> Jen is about ready to die. “Thanks. I got it in Cambodia. It’s meant to stop bad luck. Want a closer look?”</p><p>Jen's just been looking at her <em>friend</em> in the reflections of the mirrors, up until now, but now Judy is close enough that if Jen turns her head, the tattoo on her side will be right there, <em>Judy, </em>semi-naked Judy with all of her apparently ridiculous body and teasing smiles, will be right there.</p><p>Jen takes a steadying breath, wondering what the fuck is wrong with her, trying to hide how fucking uncomfortable she feels right now, swirling around in her chair, preparing herself for whatever the fuck is going to happen.</p><p>She did not expect the door to swing open and for five chattering twenty-two-year olds to come storming through the door.</p><p>Judy quickly jumps away, reaching to pull one of the long black dresses she always seems to wear for pit work over her head.</p><p>The girls barely notice a thing, four of them offering a “hey Judy” and heading straight to their mirrors to start getting ready.</p><p>There’s only one girl, one Jen is closer to than the others, not that that is saying much – the very outspoken one who will actually call Jen out for her shit, which she mostly appreciates, when the newbies tend to be to afraid of her to speak - who freezes in the doorway, turning to Jen with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>Right now, Jen would love it if Emma would be more like everyone else.</p><p>“I should go" Judy says quietly, changing her shoes and gathering her stuff.</p><p>Jen has a second to calm down before she notices the takeout cup still on her desk, still not yet finished.</p><p>“Wait, Judy!” Jen says, chasing after her, not thinking about how she only has (probably completely appalling) makeup on one eye as the catches up with Judy in the corridor to hand her the cup. “Thank you. For the coffee. I'm sorry about them.”</p><p>Jen tries to make eye contact, but Judy’s sort of looking away, through her. Jen figures she must be feeling kind of weird after whatever the fuck just happened when she was changing – god knows Jen does too. She wants to try to reassure her, to let her know that it’s fine, they’re fine still, always, even if she doesn’t have a clue what’s going on between them.</p><p>“Maybe I'll see you after?” Jen asks hesitantly. They’ve never made any plans before, just sort of always come across each other.</p><p>“Really?” Judy asks.</p><p><em>Of course, why the fuck wouldn’t I want to see you later? </em>Jen wants to say.</p><p>“Yeah. Wait for me?” she says instead.</p><p>“Okay” Judy replies, and the smile Jen’s come to really like seeing is back.</p><p>Judy takes a couple of steps, moving to go down to the pit, before quickly turning back around, face already fallen again.</p><p>“Wait, oh no! I have plans already tonight” she says as disappointedly as Jen suddenly feels. “It's just this show that one of the guys from the band is in. A bunch of us are going.”</p><p>“Oh. Never mind then. Another time?” Jen says trying to keep the sadness out of her voice, ready to quickly flee back to her mirror.</p><p> </p><p>“Unless... do you want to come with me?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for all the comments so far, I really appreciate it all!!</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. the metal band</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>proof reading? never heard of her</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jen gets ready as quickly as she can once the show is over. She’s thankful she didn't wear sweatpants to the theatre today, like she does sometimes when she's too tired to try to deal with tight jeans and uncomfortable boots. Today was a jeans and dark green plaid day, which is still kind of a shitty outfit, but it’s just going to have to do.</p><p>Hopefully whatever show Judy is taking her to is pretty casual.</p><p>The other girls look at her a bit weird when she starts reapplying makeup after taking her far too exaggerated stage stuff off – she never bothers with that to go home – but a quick glare has them focusing back on their own lives, leaving Jen the only one thinking about <em>what the fuck she is doing. </em></p><p>Judy and a couple of others from the band are waiting for her downstairs, giving her a quick wave and hurrying her along – they’re already late, apparently, the ‘others' already gone on ahead.</p><p>It’s going to be a real group outing, it seems.</p><p>
  <em>Fun. </em>
</p><p>They get to the venue, some run down dark grimy place, and Jen quickly realises she really didn’t need to be concerned about what she was wearing.</p><p>It turns out that the trombonist from the show also plays bass guitar in some sort of heavy metal band? It’s not something Jen has ever listened to before but honestly, she kinda likes it.</p><p>It’s like all of the pain she constantly feels, all the anger and resentment and jealousy about her age and the other dancers and the impending end of her career, all of it, just sort of fades away with every clash of the symbols, every intense bass line, every half-screamed lyric.</p><p>It’s nice as fuck.</p><p>The song changes a couple of minutes later, after they’ve arrived and crammed themselves into the reserved booth already too full with what she presumes are other band members. From the way the crowd suddenly lights up and really gets into it, Jen figures it’s probably safe to assume it’s a cover of some well-known song.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>You fucking prick, drop dead, you make me sick, get out of my head. </em> </strong>
</p><p>Hmm. Catchy?</p><p>She meant that thought as a joke, but it kinda is? It's a little addictive. Jen likes it. It’s definitely a good workout song, for pushing through and drowning out how much her fucking body hurts, quite the contrast to the show tunes she’s so used to hearing her entire life.</p><p>Maybe she’s a secret metal fan now? She shrugs at the idea of it.</p><p>Cool. She can deal with that.</p><p>One strange realisation aside, Jen finally looks to the people at the table, knowing she should at least try to socialise since she’s here.</p><p>If she had to guess, she’d say about half the band weren’t informed about what sort of show it was going to be either. The look on their faces, even a few songs in, more for those that have been there longer than her, is pretty fucking hilarious. Some of them are still looking shocked half an hour later, when the band announces a brief break and tell everyone to go and get drunk.</p><p>Judy, though, Judy doesn’t react the same as the others, doesn’t react like Jen would expect someone so sweet and lovely would at suddenly hearing loud angry screaming music.</p><p>The woman looks shocked for a moment, sure, but she seems to accept it really quickly, like she could never be as judgemental as the dicks in the band who are probably missing their Mozart and Sondheim and jazz to much to try to enjoy anything else. It’s still clearly not entirely her thing, but Judy seems to find something to appreciate in it anyway.</p><p>It’s just another thing that Jen finds completely incredible about her.</p><p>It’s noisy, now that the 12 or so people crammed into the booth are all talking. As much as she really does try to join in, for a bit, she’s quickly over it, over talking to strangers she doesn’t care about, and so Jen gives Judy a gentle nudge on the shoulder to get her attention.</p><p>“Do you want a drink?” she asks.</p><p>Judy nods, and they head to the bar together, Jen quickly ordering for them.</p><p>Turns out they have surprisingly decent bourbon, for a shitty dive bar. This day is surprise after surprise after surprise.</p><p>They stand side by side just sort of grinning at each other, sipping their drinks.</p><p>“Hey" Jen says eventually to break the silence, immediately feeling so fucking lame.</p><p>Judy laughs, raising her eyebrows. “Hello."</p><p>“So, heavy metal, huh? Not exactly what I was expecting when you invited me.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. It was kinda a surprise to me too. It’s interesting though. There’s something kinda magical, about watching them up on stage doing their thing, don’t you think?”</p><p><em>Of course that's how she sees it </em>Jen thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.</p><p>“Sure. I kinda like it too, I think" Jen admits.</p><p>“Yeah I can tell,” Judy smiles, “it fits somehow. Like, it fits your whole vibe.”</p><p>Jen looks a little incredulous, at both what Judy said and that she’s actually talking about fucking <em>vibes.</em></p><p>“I have the ‘vibe' of someone who listens to metal?!”</p><p>“Not all the time, maybe. But I can definitely see you jamming in your car, stuck in traffic. Can you jam, to metal?”</p><p>“I live in New York, Jude.” Jen says simply, pointing out the obvious flaw in Judy's image.</p><p>Judy laughs. “Okay maybe not then.”</p><p>Jen finishes her drink, turning back to the bar to order them another.</p><p>“God, I don’t even know the last time I drove a car...”</p><p>“You can drive?” Judy asks, making Jen turn back to her looking mildly insulted.</p><p>“Fuck you, Judy. I did learn, once.”</p><p>“Haven’t you lived in New York your whole life?” Judy asks curiously</p><p>“Yeah I have...” Jen starts replying before being interrupted by their drinks appearing.</p><p>They’re still standing side by side talking by the bar when the band finally come back on stage, a couple more drinks later. They watch the show, listening to the music that’s too loud to really let them talk anymore.</p><p>Eventually, Jen yawns.</p><p>Judy must notice, because she’s leaning in, breath against Jen’s ear making her shiver, more than close enough for Jen to be able to hear her over the music.</p><p>“You’re tired.” Judy states.</p><p>“I am,” Jen shouts back. It’s not the most fun thing, having to yell over the music. Jen doesn’t even think when she opens her mouth and asks, “wanna get out of here?”</p><p>“Sure.” Judy replies.</p><p>Jen starts walking through the crowd, reaching back to grab onto Judy’s hand so not to lose her in the crowd that is somehow still getting bigger at 2am <em>(really, Jen, how fucking old are you, complaining that people are out so late).</em></p><p>Their hands never leave each other’s when they make it out to the street, stumbling down towards the subway.</p><p>They never talk about it, never talk about much at all really, but they end up on a train back towards Jen's apartment. Jen has no idea where Judy lives, but she doesn’t think its the middle of Brooklyn for some reason.</p><p>And really, maybe she doesn’t really give Judy much choice but to follow her, with the way Jen’s still got their fingers intertwined, thumb running over Judy’s thumb ring every so often. Judy never tries to let go though, never tries to pull away and walk off in the opposite direction, so Jen figures it’s okay.</p><p>It’s not until they’re in Jen's little apartment that she starts to feel a little awkward. She probably should have thought about this more. Or like at fucking all.</p><p>She doesn’t really know what they do now. Do they sit on the sofa and watch tv, does Jen dig out some wine so they can hang out more? She asked Judy to leave the bar with her to spend time with her, to talk to her without super amplified background noise, <em>right</em>? But honestly, right now, she is so exhausted and she just kinda wants to go sleep off the booze.</p><p>“Do you mind if we just go to bed? I’m so tired” Jen asks, feeling awful for suggesting it.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, of course?” Judy replies immediately, ever the perfect fucking angel.</p><p>Jen quickly goes to the side of the apartment that would pass as a kitchen, if anyone ever used it – it’s really just a coffee machine and a microwave, like some shitty dorm room. She gets them both some water, not wanting to feel like hell tomorrow. Hangovers are fucking horrific nowadays.</p><p>“You, umm. You can sleep on the couch, if you want. I don’t really recommend it. I’d offer to, but I have to be able to actually move to do the show tomorrow...”</p><p>Judy smiles, looking at her like ‘no, you still wouldn’t’ and just follows Jen into the bedroom</p><p>Some pyjamas and spare toothbrushes and awkward shuffling under the sheets later, Jen finds herself on her side, Judy's arm around her, clinging to her, gentle drunken snoring behind her ear.</p><p>It’s been a long time since anyone else slept in this bed with her. Jen’s never really liked it – they were always too warm, or their feet too cold, or they wanted to sleep in some really uncomfortable position so Jen would lie awake half the night and her body would ache the next day.</p><p>This isn’t like that.</p><p>This is really fucking nice.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Jen wakes up the next morning to find she must have rolled over at some point, now lying on her back, a weight on her shoulder and dark hair covering her chest.</p><p>It still feels really good.</p><p>She can’t stop herself from running a hand over Judy's hair, since it’s right there. Judy maybe isn’t as asleep as Jen assumed she was, because she’s moving pretty quickly, lifting her head to look at Jen.</p><p>“Hey,” Judy whispers, voice thick with sleep.</p><p>Jen swallows. Fuck, Judy is so soft and beautiful in the morning. And she’s just so fucking close, still holding onto her, Judy’s arm still around her. <em>Stop, Jen. Just stop. It’s too early for this.</em></p><p>“Hey Jude.”</p><p>Judy looks past Jen for a second, towards the side table, and Jen swears she can see Judy’s realisation, can see the disappointment that fills her in a split second.</p><p>“I'm sorry. I've gotta go. It’s really late already.” Judy says. Jen quickly understands the disappointment she saw a moment ago, feeling it too.</p><p>“Oh? Where are you off to?” Jen asks, trying to keep her voice light, but betraying how she feels by wrapping her arms around the brunette, pulling her closer so they’re basically fucking snuggling. If she wasn’t still half asleep, she’d find this so repulsive, so embarrassing, she thinks. Probably. Maybe.</p><p>“I’ve got a meeting with an art gallery about showing some of my new paintings, the ones I did while I was travelling.”</p><p>“You paint too?” the surprise is very evident in Jen’s voice.</p><p>“Yeah? Did I never tell you that?”</p><p>“No. You didn’t. Musician, drinker, painter extraordinaire. Is there anything you can’t do?” Jen jokes, but she’s really fucking impressed. <em>Honestly how is this woman real?</em></p><p>“You should see me dance.” Judy says, keeping a straight face for a second before bursting out laughing.</p><p>Jen’s a little too intrigued by the idea to try to understand what’s funny. It definitely wakes her up a bit more, thinking about it.</p><p>“Really?” Jen asks, and maybe there’s something suggestive in her voice, who knows.</p><p>Judy just laughs more. “No. It’s really something how I have absolutely no control of my limbs the second music starts playing.”</p><p>Jen’s confused.</p><p>“But you’re a musician. How is that possible?”</p><p>
  <em>Shit there’s that smirk again.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, my fingers have rhythm. And my tongue, <em>obviously. </em>It’s just the rest of me...” Judy trails off, or maybe she doesn’t, but Jen doesn’t hear anything other than fingers, tongue and rhythm, the words repeating over and over in her heard as she tries desperately not to picture exactly what the rhythm of those things could do.</p><p>
  <em>JEN. No.</em>
</p><p>But then Jen's looking at the woman in her bed, holding eye contact, and god does she just want to find out, want to do something. Judy’s phone beeps.</p><p>“I really do have to get going. I'm sorry.”</p><p>She just looks so apologetic; it's so very sweet to Jen.</p><p>“It’s okay” Jen tries to reassure, starting to get up until Judy stops her.</p><p>“No, no. Stay where you are. Just... hey, give me your number and I’ll let you know when I’m in the show next, we can do something again?” she asks, and why the fuck would Jen say no to that, taking Judy's offered phone to quickly type before handing it back.</p><p>She sees Judy renaming her contact, which she’d just filled in as Jen, but the brunette moves the phone away, smiling, before Jen can see what the new name says.</p><p>Just as Jen hears the apartment door shut, her own phone beeps.</p><p>
  <em>that one song last night, the one you looked like you really liked. it was paralyzed by caliban. so you don’t have to secretly try to find it x</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a really slow burn where they're already holding each other while they sleep in chapter 4? i don't know what to tell you</p><p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the phone call(s)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>today's chapter is short and sweet. tomorrow's, not so much.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s one very long week before Jen finally caves and calls Judy herself, missing the sound of her voice, missing everything about her.</p><p>It’s fucking ridiculous, really, the way she’s been obsessively checking her phone and prowling around the theatre, trying to sneak looks at the band, wondering if maybe today is the day that Judy will finally back.</p><p><em>You’ve literally spent one day with her in a month, and barely a week before that, why are you so fixated on her? </em>She stops herself before she can think too much about the answer.</p><p>She’s never been one of those dancers that’s thought about hurting her competition, always preferring to out-perform them rather than try poisoning their coffee or tripping them over like in all the infamous dancer-rivalry stories. She might just slightly consider whether it’d be suspicious if Melissa’s fingers got trapped in a door for a moment though, that thought being just dark enough to prompt her to actually give in and make the call.</p><p>It's really late at night, long after the show has finished and she’s made it back home and into bed, but Jen calls anyway. She’s not even sure if Judy will answer – it’s not like she gave Jen her number for midnight conversations – but she does.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>Jen freezes. She hadn’t really thought about what she was going to <em>say, </em>she forgot about that part.</p><p>“Hey… Jen? Is that you?” Judy says hesitantly.</p><p>“Oh… Umm. Yeah, it is.” <em>Fuck, stop being such an idiot.</em> “Hi.”</p><p>“Hi!” Jen thinks she sounds kinda excited, that’s good right? “How are you? I didn’t wake you, did I?”</p><p>“Umm, I called you, Judy.”</p><p>“Oh, right, you <em>did </em>call me. What’s up?”</p><p>Jen thinks she’s probably being teased, but she feels a bit less tense now so maybe that’s okay.</p><p>“Nothing really. It’s just been a while, since...” Jen trails off, really not knowing how to describe it. Since Judy last did the show? Since the metal concert? <em>Since we held hands in the street and fucking cuddled in this bed and I never wanted it to end?</em></p><p>She swallows all of that and just says “what are you doing?”</p><p>“Oh, you know. It’s 2am, I'm practicing for a show next week.” Judy deadpans.</p><p>“Your neighbours must love you” Jen joins in.</p><p>“I bribe them with baked goods, we’re all fine,” Judy says, making Jen laugh. “Nah, I'm just kidding. I’m just laying in bed. I’m not really the best sleeper.”</p><p>“Me neither" Jen responds. It’s quiet for a moment, not that Jen minds, feeling happier just listening to the other woman breath, like a creep, until she eventually has to ask, “do you actually bake?”</p><p>“I do. I make a mean pie.” Of fucking course she does. Jen’s not even surprised anymore.</p><p>“You’re like the perfect woman, you know that.”</p><p>“I don’t know about that,” Judy says then, clearly eager to move off <em>that</em>, she continues. “Anyway. How’s the show been? Is the lead dude still messing up all the time?”</p><p>“YES he fucking is! It’s fucking ridiculous! He has two Tony awards, you’d think he'd be able to follow basic fucking blocking...” Jen starts, happily ranting on.</p><p>The night continues like that, talking on and on about anything they can think about, and Jen wakes up the next morning with her phone on the pillow next to her, Judy’s rhythmic breathing still coming from the speaker.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It happens again four nights later, Jen calling Judy after tossing and turning for an hour unable to sleep. Then she calls again, the next night, once she gets settled for bed.</p><p>Suddenly it’s a nearly daily thing, Jen calling Judy as soon as she’s through her apartment door every night. It’s like Jen needs to hear the other woman’s voice before she can relax enough to go to sleep now.</p><p>She doesn’t know when she got so fucking co-dependent.</p><p>One night, a couple of weeks into their phone calls, Judy answers with a quick “hey", sounding a little distracted. She’s still sounding like that a few minutes later, and Jen’s starting to get a little concerned by the really short responses she’s getting.</p><p>“Everything okay there, babe?” she asks finally.</p><p>“What? Oh yeah, sorry,” Judy responds, not convincing Jen at all.</p><p>“You sure? I'm here if you wanna, you know, like, talk, or whatever. About anything.” Jen says, hating that she sounds so awkward.</p><p>“Okay don’t judge?”</p><p>“Never” Jen promises sincerely.</p><p>“Damn Yankees is on and Gwen Verdon’s legs are really fucking distracting.”</p><p>Yeah, Jen can’t stop herself from bursting out laughing at that.</p><p>“Jennnn,” Judy whines, “you promised.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I'm sorry. What channel is it on?” Jen says once she’s finally got control of herself again.</p><p>“378”</p><p>Jen turns the tv in her room on, apparently just at the right moment, because Verdon and Tab Hunter are in the locker room doing ‘Whatever Lola Wants.’</p><p>“Fuck, I fucking love these old films.” Jen says.</p><p>Judy sounds transfixed, when she finally speaks. “It’s so hot, watching her dance like that. I can’t believe people can actually move like that, it’s crazy. It must be the most amazing feeling.”</p><p>Jen pauses in confusion.</p><p>“Erm, Jude. You know that’s what I do, right? Dance.”</p><p>“What, you… I didn’t mean –I <em>knew </em>that, but I never really thought about it like...” she trails off.</p><p>On the screen, Lola's on the floor, shuffling her pants down her legs and over her heels, then whipping them around as she moves across the room.</p><p>“You umm, you can do that?” Judy asks quietly.</p><p>“Yeah, Jude, I mean, no one can dance this track quite like Gwen Verdon, but yeah. I’ve done a lot of Fosse in my life. Haven’t you seen the show?” She asks laughing again. Surely Judy must have seen it, seen her dance at some point, right? When she works there sometimes.</p><p>“No!! I’ve only come by if I’m subbing. It feels like forever since I was last there with you though, you know, with everyone.”</p><p>Judy sounds so sad about that. Jen’s gotta fix it, somehow.</p><p>“You know, you can always stop by sometime even if you’re not in the show.” Jen quietly offers.</p><p>“Yeah?” Judy quickly responds, and <em>fuck</em>, she can already hear the smirk in the woman’s fucking voice.</p><p>“Yeah. I’m sure all the cast would love to see you,” Jen says, trying to quickly do some damage control.</p><p>“The cast would, huh?”</p><p>“And the crew, and the band. You’re really popular you know.” Jen says, trying to turn the teasing around. Judy ignores it.</p><p>“So, I should stop by to see them, then. Not anyone else.”</p><p>“I think the new sound kid is half in love with you, he’d probably love a visit.” Jen doubles down.</p><p>“Is that why he keeps coming to check my mic every time I’m there? I thought it was just really bad tech, for a Broadway show.” Judy responds, sounding like she might actually be considering the idea.</p><p>They both laugh, but it eventually trails off.</p><p>Jen speaks softly, hating how much she feels like she’s admitting something big despite barely saying anything.</p><p>“Seriously though. Come.”</p><p>“Okay” she hears back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>do yourself a favour and go watch whatever lola wants on youtube and imagine jen doing it, just like Judy is after this chapter. </p><p>thank you for all your comments on this so far, i love hearing from you</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. the accident</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So the idea is that i'll very occasionally have little bursts of Judy’s pov. The next one should be chapter 15. Hopefully it’ll work without seeming weird.  </p><p>i tried to edit this chapter a bit because it got too weird but honestly this will have to do because i'm too desperate to get the other chapter's up to wait any longer.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Judy goes to the show the very next night. Now that she knows it’s okay, that Jen wants her to be there, she doesn’t think she can wait a moment longer than she has to.</p><p>She’s been kinda cautious, not wanting to appear as overly eager as she knows she can be and scare Jen away – Judy thinks she’d probably be really easy to scare.</p><p>But now that she basically has an invite, all it takes is one quick text to the conductor to say she’s thinking about coming by and there’s a central Orchestra ticket sitting in her name at the box office.</p><p>She's so excited to finally really get to see the show.</p><p>She’s observed it from the pit, of course, so she knows what the show sounds like, has watched the conductor cam half a dozen times when she was prepping. She knows the general story, but she’s never <em>seen </em>it. Never seen Matt and Kim and Patty and all the other people she’s come to know a little from the cast and chorus do their thing.</p><p>Never seen Jen do hers.</p><p>Judy had pictured Jen dancing, in theory, the very first time they met, coming up with some Rockettes-style image that just didn’t feel right. She really hadn’t thought about it much since, not waiting to push any boundaries thinking about her new friend like <em>that</em> too much. Ever since last night, though, all she can picture is Jen in a one piece and heels and now she needs to see the real thing so hopefully she can get the image out of her head.</p><p>Maybe she spends a little too long getting ready, picking out the perfect dress, dark green, kinda deep-cut, a little different and dressier than her normal floral thing, adding some earrings she fell in love with when she was in Australia, putting on heels instead of boots.</p><p>It’s because it’s the theatre, she wants to make an effort, show it and everyone in it the respect they deserve.</p><p>But yeah, she sort of wants to look nice for when she surprises Jen too.</p><p>Judy hasn't told her that she’s coming.</p><p>Judy speaks to the security as soon as she gets to the theatre about getting backstage after the show without having to go all the way out to the stage door, hoping to catch Jen as soon as she can once it’s over. It’s not hard to arrange something; most of the staff remember her, one even asking if it was Jen that she was here for before Judy had a chance to explain everything.</p><p>She didn’t know that Jen and she were that visibly close, that other people had noticed. It’s kinda a nice thought, that they have. That it’s not all in Judy’s head.</p><p>The show starts, and Judy’s really enjoying it, tracking all her friends when they’re on stage, trying to remember what to compliment them for later, laughing at the lines she’s heard a dozen times but finds so much funnier now she can actually see what’s going on. It’s great, getting to finally see the show as a whole – it’s actually such a good production.</p><p>But then Jen will come on stage, and all of that falls out of the window and there might as well be no-one else in the room for how little Judy is capable of seeing them anymore.</p><p>There’s this smile that slowly takes over Jen’s face when she’s on stage. It looks a tiny bit forced at first, faked for the audience, just like everyone else’s. But then she dances, and gradually, bit by bit, the smile becomes more real, the passion and the <em>love</em> that Jen has for what she’s doing seeping out the more she’s on stage.</p><p>It’s breath-taking.</p><p>Judy thinks her smile probably looks about the same right now.</p><p>She watches Jen dance and feels a little stupid about her Verdon comment last night – <em>yes, </em>Jen can dance like her. Jen can dance like nothing she’s ever seen.</p><p>Just watching Jen’s feet alone transports Judy to somewhere else, telling a story just in their tiny movements whilst Jen taps and moves across the stage. Judy didn’t know that was a thing, that people were capable of doing things like that.</p><p>Jen’s on stage in all black, heeled shoes dancing around on her feet, slightly sheer tights, a high legged one piece just like Judy had been picturing her friend wearing last night. It’s really not helping tame the thoughts that have been in her head since then.</p><p>The wig she’s wearing gives Jen blonde hair much shorter than Judy is used to seeing, stopping barely past her ears, a style totally from another time, but the way it frames her face, shows her collarbone and neck? Yeah, Judy kinda likes it.</p><p>The stretch of her legs, the hips swaying and jolting, the chest heaving at the effort Jen’s putting in….</p><p>The energy it all has, the energy that Jen is giving off.</p><p><em>Shit</em>.</p><p>Judy can’t handle it.</p><p>She just has an energy so vibrant right now, so full, and deep that Judy swears she can feel it crackling through the air.</p><p>And then there’s Jen’s arms.</p><p>Judy’s sort of transfixed by them.</p><p>It’s haunting, the way they rise through the air, like they’re casting magical spells that bind Judy to her seat where she’s condemned to do nothing but stare and imagine.</p><p>It’s like they’re floating, flowing through the air so perfectly. Judy doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to get the images of really simple arm movements out of her head. There’s just no way she’s not going to dream about this moment tonight, or for the rest of her nights too.</p><p>Judy’s gaze follows through to Jen’s hand, looking at the extension of long fingers. Her breath catches when they move suddenly, her mind filling with thoughts that are absolutely not okay to be having when Jen and everyone on stage and elsewhere in the theatre are working so hard to put on a performance for her to watch.</p><p>
  <em>You can creepily stare at her hands later, Judy, once you’re finally alone together again.</em>
</p><p>Well, she probably shouldn’t do that either, but there’s no way Judy is ever going to be able to look at Jen the same after this.</p><p>Judy tries to go back (as if she ever really was) to appreciating the show as a whole, but it isn’t long before she’s just watching Jen again.</p><p>Her friend just looks so happy, glowing up there under the gleaming lights. She looks relaxed, in a weird sort of way for someone who is clearly working incredibly hard.</p><p>Not even when they were in bed together that one time, not even when Jen was sleeping – not that Judy was watching her sleep, she really tried not to, knowing how weird that would be – did Jen seem this at peace with herself, with the world.</p><p>The light in her eyes that Judy has only ever seen glimpses of a couple of times shines through, even from the distance. It shows how much Jen loves doing this, how much she was clearly always meant to be doing it.</p><p>She looks free.</p><p>Maybe she’s a little bias, seeing how much she likes Jen, how much she definitely <em>likes</em> Jen, but watching her swirl around like that, move like that. No other dancer could ever compare.  It sort of makes her want to cry, there’s so much beauty in it.</p><p>It’s one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen, more than that waterfall in Zambia that had stolen her breath for days, more than artwork she fell in love within Thailand that now sits pride of place in her apartment. She’s in awe.</p><p>Judy sees it in slow motion, when the dancer next to Jen drifts a little too close, Jen not noticing. When they both jump, Judy heart has already stopped, because she knows what is about to happen as she sees the other girl clip Jen on her leg.</p><p> Jen falls to the floor.</p><p>The dance carries on for a second, but Jen doesn’t bounce up, Judy filling with panic as she wills Jen to get off the floor, to just get up and be perfectly okay. Obviously, the stage manager realises something’s very wrong, because the next thing Judy knows, people in black are rushing onto the stage and the security curtain is falling and there’s an announcement that the show is stopped.</p><p>The show is stopped, and Judy is instantly up and out of her seat, trying to get past people before they’ve had a chance to stand half way up to let her by, running around to the side door where she knows the front of house security guy will recognise her and let her backstage.</p><p>He gives her a sad, knowing smile and lets her pass without a word.</p><p>She finds Jen at the side of the stage, laying on an old sofa, leaning up against one of the arms, a group of people surrounding her. Judy can hear them talking about x rays and breaks and standbys, but the only thing she can really focus on is the pain on Jen’s face, the trails being formed by her silent tears in her makeup. Jen, who is very much awake and ignoring everyone trying to talk to her.</p><p>Judy hovers for a moment; she was desperate to get back here, but now that she is, she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if Jen will want her to be here like Judy feels she needs to be.</p><p>
  <em>Jen doesn’t even know you’re here to see her tonight.</em>
</p><p>But then Jen spots her and the pain in her eyes eases, just a tiny bit, and she’s immediately reaching an arm out in Judy’s direction, through the small crowd of people. Judy grabs onto it, allowing herself to be pulled forward, the other people having to move out the way at her sudden movement.</p><p>“Judy?! Did I hit my fucking head?” Jen asks, as if even though they’re holding hands Jen can’t believe that she’s real.</p><p>“No,” Judy says laughing before frowning, because it’s an actual possibility that Jen did and that’s terrifying. “At least I don’t think so? I'm really here though. I was watching the show. I was going to come and surprise you after.”</p><p>“You picked a great fucking night,” Jen groans.</p><p>Judy tries to laugh, but it sounds weird. It’s a few confusing seconds before she realises that Jen’s not the only one of them that’s been crying. She didn’t even notice, in her panic to see if Jen was okay.</p><p>Jen pulls her even closer, making Judy perch on the edge of the couch, reaching a hand out to run through blonde hair, pulling away laughing when she remembers it’s actually not Jen’s hair but that she’s still wearing her stage wig.</p><p>Judy doesn’t leave Jen's side, not in the ambulance, not in the hospital, not in the taxi back to Jen’s apartment, armed with painkillers and crutches and the good news that nothing is broken, but with strict instructions for Jen not to put weight on her ankle for at least the next two weeks.</p><p>Thankfully, the doctor had also said that the dancer should be able to go back into the show be Jen had cried some more when she was told that, turning into Judy’s shoulder, Judy shielding her so no one else would see; she didn’t think Jen would like that. She’s honestly really surprised that Jen was being that emotionally open with her even.</p><p>Judy thinks it shows just how scared Jen must have been, that something could be really wrong.</p><p>She helps Jen into bed, awkwardly standing around, desperately not wanting to leave but not sure whether Jen wants her there, if she’s being too clingy and annoying and in the way with yet another person when she just wants to help.</p><p>All she wants to do is help.</p><p>It feels really selfish, Judy’s need to be the one that cares for Jen. She knows if she leaves, she’ll just sit at home replaying the moment on stage over and over again until she finally gets to see Jen again. The only way she’s going to get any rest tonight is if she stays by Jen’s side, if she has that tangible proof that the woman is okay.</p><p>Maybe it’s for the best if she just goes, though. Jen must have other people that she’d rather have helping her.</p><p>In the end the decision is made for her.</p><p>Jen catches Judy’s arm before she can talk herself into making excuses and walking away, pulling Judy back to the bed.</p><p>“Stay?”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>dancing and our first tiny little slither of angst for this fic. </p><p>I should be able to be back to the nearly daily updates for a bit again, i'm so desperate to get a certain future chapter out, so see you soon! 💖</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. the recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jen wakes up to an empty bed, but she hears Judy moving around her kitchen before she can start to worry about where she might be.</p><p>A couple of minutes later, Judy returns carrying a plate of food and a cup of coffee.</p><p>“Oh hey, you’re up! I made breakfast. Sorry, I couldn’t find any trays anywhere…” Judy says, like she’s really disappointed about it.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s because I don’t have any. I didn’t think I even had any food, how did you…?”</p><p>“I ran over the hall to your neighbours; they were happy to let me steal a few things.”</p><p>O<em>f course, they were, it’s you, </em>Jen thinks. She’s never even spoken to her neighbours, wouldn’t be able to tell you their names, just like any other normal modern-day new yorker, but of course Judy would just have to smile at them and complete strangers would do whatever she asked. <em>Anyone would.</em></p><p>Jen takes a bite and moans. It’s fucking delicious, obviously. Why wouldn’t Judy be an excellent cook?</p><p>Judy swallows, looking around uncomfortably.</p><p>“So, umm, I have to run out to go to this rehearsal in a little bit, but, well, would it be okay if I came back later, to see how you are?” she asks shyly, like she really thinks Jen might say no.</p><p>“Of course,” Jen immediately replies. “I’ll probably still be sat right here, there’s no point in moving too much yet, take my keys and come back whenever.”</p><p>Jen offers that without really thinking – it’s hardly the first time she’s had to be on crutches, she knows how much of a nightmare they are and doesn’t really want Judy to have to wait for her to hobble her way to let her in whenever she comes back; and she’d really like for her to come back. <em>Especially if it means more meals like this, </em>Jen’s brain qualifies.</p><p>Judy beams though, clearly having no such qualms about restricting how she’s feeling about them spending more time together later.</p><p>“Okay then. Well, I’ll bring you some water and snacks and your medication here and put some more by the sofa, just in case you want to sit there later.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do all that, Judes,” Jen tries to reassure.</p><p>“Yes, I do. I just want to help, please Jen?”</p><p>How the fuck could Jen say no to that.</p><p>*</p><p>At some point during the day, Jen needs to get up to use the bathroom, and she does end up transferring to the sofa, important phone and medication in her pocket, just like Judy suggested.</p><p>She’s sat, leg up and resting, yelling into her phone at management from the show, when Judy returns.</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ! She could have ended my whole fucking career! What the fuck was she thinking, moving from her blocking like that…. No, you listen. She could have seriously hurt someone; she basically fucking did! Me!”</p><p>Honestly, Jen’s not sure what she was expecting to happen, but she wasn’t thinking that the people on the other side of the call would be defending the idiot responsible for the whole thing.</p><p>“I don’t give a shit whose daughter she is, I’m not dancing next to her again, John, it’s just not fucking happening!” she continues to yell.</p><p>It’s then that Jen hears a key in the lock, and Judy is walking through the door.</p><p>Jen finds that some of the anger she was feeling starts to fade away at Judy’s smile, at the way she comes right up to Jen, take out in hand. It’s a gross feeling, knowing that a person’s mere presence can have that much of an effect on her.</p><p>“The show?” Judy whispers.</p><p>“Yeah. Idiots.” Jen mouths, rolling her eyes comically to get Judy to giggle.</p><p>
  <em>How are you smiling right now after being ready to punch someone nine whole seconds ago?</em>
</p><p>But then someone else on this fucking group call says something idiotic and Jen’s right back to yelling. Judy just walks away to go and start sorting out the food.</p><p>*</p><p>Judy stays, the next day, and the next. It’s weird, that there’s another person in the apartment, but Jen is so grateful for it. She really would be struggling so much on her own, and there is no way she’s about to ask anyone else for help.</p><p>Judy never asks Jen if there’s anyone else that could be doing this, doesn’t ask why Jen’s sister or friends from the show aren’t over here helping her too. Jen’s kinda grateful for that – she doesn’t know how to explain that she isn’t this close to anyone else, that no-one else would abandon 85% of their life to help her with what is barely more than a sprain, that she would normally get through this on her own.</p><p>Instead, Jen has the kindest person in the whole fucking world caring for her like she’s the only thing that matters.</p><p>It means a lot.</p><p>On the third night after the disastrous show, they’re lying in bed, kinda cuddling. Not that Jen would ever call it that. It's weird though, how she’s finding she really isn’t hating physical contact so much with this one person. Something suddenly occurs to her and she can’t stop herself from speaking. She’s gotta know.</p><p>“You know, you never said what you thought of the show, before you know, this I mean,” she asks quietly, pointing down her body towards the bottom of the bed.</p><p>Judy's face immediately changes colour, clearly suddenly very flustered. It’s kinda adorable, but it also makes Jen so much more interested.</p><p><em>That fucking good</em>,<em> huh</em>.</p><p>“Well, I didn’t exactly see all of it...” Judy says eventually, and Jen rolls her eyes. <em>Obviously she didn’t see the end of the show, Jen knew that. </em></p><p>Judy spots the eyerolling and if anything the blush deepens.</p><p>“That’s not, umm, that’s not what I mean,” Judy continues.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Jen asks, puzzled.</p><p>“You're magical, Jen. You like, you’re all I could see as soon as you’re on the stage. I didn’t really notice what else was happening, not when you...”</p><p>Judy’s still talking, voice full of sincerity, gaze elsewhere, like she’s back in the theatre experiencing it all again. Jen’s stunned, completely frozen.</p><p>She’s lying there in her friend’s arms, listening to her talk so passionately about <em>Jen, </em>about Jen <em>dancing</em>. People haven’t done that in years, not since she was amazing parents at recitals and teachers in classes.</p><p>Judy’s lips are still moving, still going on about Jen’s presence and passion, and Jen has this sudden urge to lean in and kiss them. It’s so fucking strong that it terrifies her.</p><p>
  <em>Abort Jen, abort. Not now. Not ever, probably, but not now. Not when you’re injured and she’s being your fucking nurse maid. Not yet. </em>
</p><p>She tries to focus back in on the conversation, on what Judy is saying.</p><p>“—your energy on stage, Jen. It’s breath-taking.”</p><p>“My <em>energy</em> is breath-taking?” Jen inquires, pulling a face showing how weird she finds that sentence that Judy laughs at.</p><p>Jen tries to steer the conversation back to safer waters after that, to something that doesn’t make her feel quite so utterly overwhelmed.</p><p>*</p><p>The next few weeks are rough. Judy comes and goes in the day, helping Jen around the apartment and to her physio and doctors' appointments and always returning by night, to follow Jen into bed and sleep against her side.</p><p>It’s a lot though, sometimes, Judy always being right there. Jen’s so very used to being on her own – she’s not used to not having any time to herself. And maybe the fact that she keeps having these urges to pull Judy closer,  keeps catching herself looking at Judy’s lips now when she talks, maybe that’s all starting to get a little too fucking much.</p><p>There’s also that she just misses the show so much. She misses dancing so much. Fuck, she misses being able to walk to the bathroom without it being a giant fucking mission, without Judy hovering and watching in case she falls or drops a crutch or something.</p><p>Jen’s in the kitchen making coffee one day around noon, having just about mastered how to carry a cup with her crutches by now, when Judy is suddenly there, offering to take it for her, asking her where she’d like to sit, and <em>fuck it’s just too much</em>.</p><p>“Stop, Judy! Oh my fucking god, can you just stop!”</p><p>She immediately regrets it from the hurt on the brunette's face, moving a hand to gently cover one of hers.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I'm sorry, Jude,” Jen says, trying to keep her voice soft but finding it naturally raises again anyway. “it’s just, I have to be able to do something, okay, and this is the one thing I can actually fucking do without you.”</p><p>“I’m sorry Jen. I just don’t want you to push yourself and get hurt again.”</p><p>“I know that, but I can manage! You don’t need to keep hovering over me all the time, you’re fucking everywhere!”</p><p>Jen can see in Judy’s face that she takes it deeper than Jen intends it. She isn’t asking Judy to leave or anything, just to maybe not follow her constantly around her own apartment so they’re never more than fucking three feet apart. Judy must think she does though.</p><p>“Melissa asked me to sub again tonight so she can go do another gig. I was going to say no, but I think I’m going to call her back and say yes now and give you some space to yourself.”</p><p>“You don’t have to, Judy! I didn’t mean you had to like, leave?!”</p><p>“It’s okay. I'll, umm, I’ll see you later. Bye!” Judy says, pulling Jen into a quick hug, brushing Jen’s cheek with the gentlest off kisses when she pulls back away, before quickly grabbing her bag and coat and practically running out of Jen’s building.</p><p>Jen hates the way she feels her face light up, a blush like no other forming, because <em>holy shit</em> Judy’s lips are so fucking soft – all she wants to do is call her back and kiss her properly, finally, but she can’t do that, not after she was so fucking mean. She deserves to be tortured for a bit, to have to wait until she can see Judy again.</p><p>And torture it is.</p><p>She’s been trying to avoid thinking about the show too much while she hasn’t been able to be there, knowing that only leads to her mind going dark places. But knowing Judy is doing her show right now and Jen can’t, knowing that someone else is on stage right now dancing Jen’s part, probably someone younger and hotter and more likely to bounce back from stupid injuries like this? It’s awful.</p><p>She waits until she’s sure the show must have finished, until the band have probably already all rushed out the theatre, until she texts Judy.</p><p>
  <em>I'm sorry Judes. I hope the show went well x</em>
</p><p>She waits a while, for the door to open, for a text, anything, but eventually Jen falls asleep, the pain meds making staying awake too difficult.</p><p>She’s woken up some time after midnight by Judy slinking into her bed.</p><p>Neither of them says anything, Judy just curling herself around Jen and kissing her shoulder.</p><p>It’s a forgiveness Jen probably doesn’t deserve. Judy’s done nothing but try to help, and Jen’s just a fucking asshole in return.</p><p>She wasn’t meant to be like that with Judy.</p><p>Everyone else, sure, Jen has no problem taking out her anger on them. But not Judy. Judy’s too good, too pure, for that.</p><p>Jen doesn’t sleep much that night, lying awake, Judy’s arms around her, trying to figure out why Judy feels so different, why she has been able to get this under Jen’s skin, and what the fuck Jen is going to do about it all.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. the company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello again! we are eight chapters in which apparently means it's finally time for a little bit of backstory.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jen’s almost sad when the doctor gives her the all clear to go back to work.</p><p>She hasn’t needed help really for a while now, able to move around normally as long as she didn’t try to do something stupid like dance and injure her ankle again. Judy’s still been there though, still completely on call if Jen ever does need her, still spending most of her time at Jen’s apartment, hovering and helping wherever she can.</p><p>Jen’s not called her out on it or tried to stop her again since that one awful day.</p><p>Judy’s with her at the doctor’s appointment, of course, but Jen thinks she’s being a little strange, not as excited at the good news as Jen has come to expect about almost anything from the woman. It’s not until later, when they’re eating dinner on Jen’s sofa that the blonde figures out why.</p><p>“So, you’re back in the show this weekend then?” Judy says</p><p>“Yeah, I am,” Jen replies, smiling, because she really is so pleased and relieved that she finally gets to go back to work.</p><p>“I should probably get my things and take them back to my place then, I guess? If you don’t need me around all the time anymore to help...”</p><p>The happiness Jen was feeling freezes, blood running cold.</p><p>She forgot that Judy wasn’t going to be here forever, that she was only really here because was so kind that she wanted to help, not necessarily because it’s really where she wanted to be.</p><p>
  <em>Shit<strong>. </strong></em>
</p><p>Jen sort of wants to do something uncharacteristically gross like cry.</p><p>Judy’s looking at her, clearly waiting for Jen to say something, and she panics, not knowing how to say ‘please don’t go, stay here forever' when she doesn’t know if Judy wants to do that. She finds herself stupidly agreeing with Judy instead.</p><p>“Oh. Umm, okay then. I guess I’m back to healthy and normal enough to manage on my own now.”</p><p>It’s subtle, but Judy’s face definitely falls, like that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. Jen tries to backtrack a bit, in case she sounded too harsh, as though she didn’t want Judy to be around at all again. She would never want Judy to think that.</p><p>“You’re always welcome here though, you know Jude. I’m really gonna miss spending all this time with you when I’m back to working like a fucking dog.”</p><p>That gets a smile, and it all feels a bit better again. They go back to eating in front of the television.</p><p>*</p><p>Jen expected everything to change a lot once Judy moved out – <em>she was never fucking living here, Jen, it was never permanent, stop fucking thinking about it like that – </em>but it never really does.</p><p>Sure, Jen misses waking up to find Judy cooking breakfast every morning, quickly growing tired of the cereal and bad coffee she had no problem habitually eating before. She misses the sound of Judy talking to herself when she’s doing her dishes, the chaos of Judy’s things somehow being everywhere even when she barely had anything here.</p><p>But the thing is, she doesn’t really have much time to really miss Judy herself, because they really aren’t away from each other too much anymore.</p><p>They don’t just go back to the once-a-day phone calls late at night. Instead, there are texts, constantly, or quick calls during the day so they can talk about the weird guy on the subway or how many people are around Time's Square or the muffins Judy just made: nothing at all really.</p><p>They don’t meet up all that much in person still, but if Judy is subbing another show at night, she’ll walk over to Jen’s theatre once it’s done, coming in the stage door – the security now <em>all</em> know her, and all love her, of course – and finding Jen in her dressing room, where she’s usually still only half out of her makeup.</p><p>They tend to go back to Jen’s when that happens, drinking and relaxing watching old tv sitcoms together until Judy inevitably ends up sleeping in Jen’s bed once again.</p><p>It occurs to Jen, one day, when they’re sat eating breakfast on her couch, that there’s no way random flute players are getting sick or skipping their shows this much, that Judy can’t really be covering that many people this many times a week. But then, why would Judy lie about that, about already being in midtown night after night? She dismisses the thought as her just being ridiculous, not trusting enough once again, and detangles herself from Judy enough to reach for her coffee again.</p><p>Jen has no idea what they’re doing really. She still can’t really understand why Judy wants to be around this much, why she always seems so happy to answer Jen’s calls or see her at the theatre.</p><p>It’s not that Jen hasn’t had friends or partners or anything before, but no one has ever seemed to just enjoy her presence like this and it’s a little jarring if she’s honest. Why would someone this lovely and amazing want to be around Jen so much, especially after Judy had seen some of Jen’s other side, the angrier, rash side that she’s been trying to control in the other woman’s presence?</p><p>It’s all very confusing.</p><p>There’s a lot about Judy that confuses her, so much that she still doesn’t know. She’s kind of desperate to find out – which of course is yet another super fucking confusing feeling, because since fucking when is Jen <em>this</em> curious about other people?</p><p>And then there’s whatever else seems to be happening, with all the hand holding and snuggling and sudden urges to pull Judy closer and maybe <em>finally </em>give in.</p><p>Jen’s not that much of a fucking idiot. She might not have had that many close friends, but she knows that it isn’t normal friend behaviour, that spending half your fucking day imagining kissing the other person <em>isn’t </em>what friends do.</p><p>She’s going to have to deal with all of that, probably sometime soon.</p><p>Judy laughs at something on the tv, causing Jen to look up, her breath catching at the sight of Judy laughing freely, head tilted slightly back, arm flying out to Jen’s knee briefly as she chuckles.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Yeah, she’s going to have to figure all this shit out real fucking soon.</p><p>*</p><p>One night, Jen and Judy are on the train, almost back in Brooklyn, comparing tales of trips to Paris, Jen for a semester at dance school, Judy with music and then on her travels, when Jen decides to ask something she’s been wondering about for a while.</p><p>“Why did you want to travel?” she asks, her voice still light.</p><p>Jen can tell Judy gets pretty serious really quick, and she’s already reaching a comforting hand out to place on Judy’s arm before she can begin speaking.</p><p>“I used to dream about places all around the world when I was little, whenever it got hard. We didn’t exactly have much stuff when we were living in the car—”</p><p>Jen feels her heart seize.</p><p>“—you lived in your car, Jude?” she says softly, so softly, grip tightening on Judy’s arm.</p><p>“Oh, umm. Yeah. With my Mom. It wasn’t that bad.”</p><p>Jen hates it when she does that, when Judy tries to minimise her experiences. She wants to say something, but something tells her that whatever Judy is about to say is only going to get worse – that for Judy, the car really wasn’t that bad in comparison to some other stuff.</p><p>Her hand on Judy’s arm doesn’t feel enough anymore, so she lets it fall down to the other woman’s hand instead, finding probably too much comfort in what is now the familiarity of her fingers.</p><p>“I had this one book with photos from places all around the world and I’d draw myself into them, trying to pretend I was there instead,” Judy continues, giving Jen’s hand a squeeze as if Jen is the one that needs comforting right now. “And then this charity came into school one day and threw a bunch of musical instruments at us and everyone else fought over the guitars and the violins and I was left with the flute. I picked it up kinda fast—"</p><p>“— I know, you’re a total prodigy.” Jen interrupts, rolling her eyes at the reminder of how <em>fucking</em> talented and amazing this woman is once again, taking a second to lighten the mood.</p><p>Judy looks at her questioningly, standing and pulling Jen up so they can step off the train onto the platform.</p><p>“What, I googled you!” Jen says a little defensively.</p><p>“Jen!” Judy exclaims before laughing again.</p><p>“Are you seriously saying you haven’t searched for me too?”</p><p>“I have the playbill with all your credits and your bio, what else is there to find out?” Judy says, but Jen can tell there’s something else behind it. Knowing her friend, she was probably too fucking worried about invading Jen’s privacy or something. <em>Why does she always have to be so good?</em></p><p>“Oh, you know, just about a hundred home videos and bootlegs of me dancing in shows over the years…” Jen teases, knowing how it will capture Judy’s interest after the show. Judy’s been so much more interested in anything dance related since that day.</p><p>“Videos of you… wait, over the years, meaning videos of Baby-Jen dancing? Oh, you’re so showing me them when we get to yours.”</p><p>Jen internally cringes at the phrase ‘Baby-Jen’, but she knows its her own fault for bringing it up in the first place; there’s not going to be any way to stop Judy from seeing those videos now.</p><p>“Urrghhh, fine. As long as I don’t have to be sober for them.”</p><p>They walk through the barriers and down the steps of the subway station. Once they’re at street level, Jen turns back to Judy, hand back in hand.</p><p>“Do you want to continue what you were saying before, on the train?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Sure,” Judy says, taking a deep breath. “So, yeah, I started playing flute and within a couple of years I was playing with these orchestras and they were paying for me to travel places but we’d barely get to leave this hotel and I’d still just dream about the drawings in the photos and really getting to travel on my own someday.”</p><p>Judy has to stop for a moment when the slightly green metal frame overhead starts rattling as another train passes along the subway line. They keep walking; Jen’s apartment isn’t far down the street.</p><p>“—and then I met Steve, and was pregnant and so we got married really quickly, but then, well you know what happened, I lost the baby.”</p><p>Jen moves herself closer, free arm reaching up to brush Judy’s. She’s so fucking awful at this comforting other people thing, but it makes her feel better, knowing that Judy is right here and not going through these terrible things anymore, and she’s selfish enough to take the comfort from that, whether it is actually helping Judy, her being this clingy, or not. She hopes it is.</p><p>“But after that Steve didn’t want me traveling anymore, and he thought all the orchestra stuff was too demanding, so I started doing little bits of pit work and session work whenever he was too busy to notice. He did take me to London once though!” Judy says, clearly trying to smile, probably trying to seem grateful.</p><p>Jen hates it, hates every single fucking thing about Steve from the little she knows about him. Judy shouldn’t have to act super nice because he did one semi-decent thing, once, in their entire fucking relationship.</p><p>If she ever gets within 100 feet of that asshole it is not going to be fucking pretty. One of them will not leave there alive.</p><p>She notices how her hand has tightened around Judy’s and <em>Jesus, fuck -</em> she needs to control her anger before Judy sees it and thinks she’s somehow at fault for something.</p><p>Jen thinks she would take Judy to every fucking country in the world if it’d make Judy happy. Why would he ever think that one little London trip (that was probably actually a business trip, Jen wouldn’t put it past him at all) would be enough to stop Judy’s dreams?</p><p>“Then, yeah. After the divorce, I ended up with some, umm, money from Steve, the lawyers and whatever sorted it, I didn’t really mean for it to happen. But then I was finally free and able to just go out and see everything like I always wanted.”</p><p>There’s a joy in Judy’s voice, a lightness when she talks about her travels, about getting to see beautiful things and meet so many people, that Jen thinks she could, someday, get addicted to.</p><p>Judy goes quiet as they reach Jen’s building, clearly thinking about something as they walk up the stairs. She doesn’t speak again until they reach Jen’s apartment.</p><p>“Have you ever…?” she asks, trailing off. Jen’s confused, for a second, until she turns back from unlocking the door to see Judy pointing to the finger on her left hand.</p><p>“What, have I ever been married?” Judy nods. “No. I mean, Ted asked once. He was the guy I met the first day of college and dated for the entire four years – it was such a fucking waste of my time – but yeah, he asked once.”</p><p>“What happened?” Judy says, like it’s the most interesting question she’s ever asked. It’s sort of funny, how she’s frozen, one boot on, one boot off, bag splattered on the floor by her feet near the door, giving Jen her complete attention.</p><p>“He didn’t even wait for my answer. The asshole just started planning our lives, telling me that I would quit dancing and get a ‘real’ job so he could work on his music and we’d move to California to be near his fucking mother and have lots of kids and live these normal boring lives. I fucking hate myself for even slightly considering it.”</p><p>Jen feels herself getting choked up a little, decades old tears springing to her eyes unwanted.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, why the fuck am I getting emotional about this.</em>
</p><p>Jen’s pulled into a hug. The hugs are somehow always still shocking to her, despite how many dozens of times her and Judy have fucking snuggled on the sofa or in bed.</p><p>“I’m glad you didn’t say yes,” Judy says tearfully when she finally pulls away.</p><p>“Yeah?” Jen questions, not trusting her voice to say much more.</p><p>“Of course. Aren’t you? Imagine all those poor people who would never have gotten to see you on stage in another life,” Judy jokes.</p><p>It’s stupid, but effective at getting them both to snap out of it.</p><p>“I think they would have survived,” Jen says dryly, but she’s smiling again. “Come on, I think we need to drink. All these emotions aren’t fucking good for me.”</p><p>“Jen…”</p><p><em>Why the fuck is she smiling at me like that? </em>Jen thinks.</p><p>“Yes, Judes?”</p><p>“You promised…”</p><p><em>Shit. </em>Jen was hoping she forgot about the videos.</p><p>They’re really going to need all the fucking alcohol tonight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for all of your support of this fic so far! 💖</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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